


baby it's cold outside

by Druddigonite



Series: Bederia Week 2020 [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: DressedinPinkShipping, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, WELL HERE YOU GO, bede swears a lot. rated t for bede, bederia, i promised i'd deliver a cuddling fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Druddigonite/pseuds/Druddigonite
Summary: Day 3 | Traveling TogetherWhen Bede offered to accompany Gloria on her trip to the Crown Tundra, he didn’t expect to be given a crash course on how to survive extreme wild area weather.
Relationships: Beet | Bede/Yuuri | Gloria
Series: Bederia Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644379
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	baby it's cold outside

**Author's Note:**

> *crawls over and extends the warmest of gratitudes to anybody who reads through this fic*

It’s fucking cold. 

Bede feels it in his bones: a deep gnawing chill frozen into aching muscle, the sting of frost on pink cheeks and nose. His breath shivers as he breathes, condenses into thick clouds of vapor through the weave of his scarf. 

“How much further are you making me walk, Gloria?” 

Gloria, several feet ahead, stops to give him a strange look. She’s bundled up in an orange thermal jacket and pants, sporting a woolen ski hat in lieu of her usual beret. Its little green tassels flap wildly in the wind. “We’ve barely made it across the border” 

“Walk faster, then,” he grouses. 

He can barely make out anything through the glare of the snow, but he thinks he sees her eyes roll. “You’re the one lagging behind with enough gear worth three people. Get rid of one of your pants and you might be able to walk instead of waddle.” 

Opal had made sure he’d come prepared: thick parka layered atop a thermal undershirt, three pairs of pants, climbing boots so ungainly it’s a wonder he hasn’t tripped already. To add further insult to injury, she had slung one of her gaudy knit scarves around his neck like she was tying up a present, pressing a kiss on his nose in full view of Gloria the minute before they had to board their train for the Crown Tundra. 

All good it did, he thinks, when he’s still cold as _fuck_. Gloria didn’t need to know that though; if he’d learned anything as a challenger and gym leader, it was how to hide his weaknesses. “It keeps me warm, unlike your lousy excuse for mountain climbing gear.” 

“If you say so,” She’s cresting the ridge now, peering at what lay beyond dirty stone slopes and too-white snow. “Oh wow. Bede, you’ve got to see this!” 

Was the scenery that interesting? He dusts off stray snowflakes that have landed in his hair, stumbling his way up the slope. Shes right; the peak offers a clear vantage to the crown tundra, and in the clear weather of early morning he can see that—

“—It’s just more snow.” Bede said. 

Gloria elbows him, though he hardly feels it through his clothes. “Look further, idiot.” 

“And rocks.” 

That gets a soft snort out of her, and something in his chest catches when he sees the fog of her breath, billowing around her smile. “Okay, _fair_. It’s not that interesting at first glance, but camp out in the Wild Area long enough and you realize there’s an ecosystem beneath all that snow and rock."

She makes a vague gesture with her mitten. "See the huge tree in the distance? That’s where the sightings of strong, mysterious pokemon are coming from, and that’s where we’ll have to camp out.” 

“Got it.” Gloria’s taken it upon herself to investigate any and all pokemon-related threats. Bede technically isn’t supposed to join her, but he’s been well acquainted with her inability to dress for the weather, and well. He doesn’t trust her to take care of herself. 

(Opal’s rubbing off on him, he curses. It doesn’t stop him from packing extra scarves) 

“Thank you, by the way. For joining me.” she says, not a trace of sarcasm her voice and oh arceus, why is it suddenly so fucking hot in all these layers. “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone.” 

“No problem.” Bede’s voice cracks like a traitor, and he covers it with a cough. “It’s a waste of time standing out here though. Let’s move on before we get hypothermia.” 

* * *

Before she resigned, the championship took a toll on Gloria.

She was never one made for the limelight, with a face too ordinary for television screens and voice too quiet for talk shows. When they faced each other in tournaments, she seemed too gaunt and willow-framed behind her bristling golisopod, stage lights harsh against the bags under her eyes and looking like the crowd can swallow her whole. 

But here, she is none of those things. 

It’s like watching a slow metamorphosis. Gloria’s back straightens; her eyes take on a determined gleam and she moves with purpose and direction. This is where she feels most at home, Bede realises, where wind nips at your cheeks and snow dots your clothing and the only sound is the crunch of boots on ice, where she can shed her burdens and be lost in the novelty of exploration. 

“This is the first time I’ve been here, actually,” she says, leading the way with a map saved on her rotomless-phone (there’s no reception). Bede lopes behind, content to follow. “I planned to go as soon as the place was cleared, but I was still champion then and so swamped with work that I couldn’t spare time for even a short trip. Tying off loose ends before I left had been a nightmare—whoa! Is that a cryogonal?”

“Seems like it.” Said cryogonal is just a crystalline speck on another mountain slope, but already Gloria had exited out of her maps app and is now taking incredibly zoomed-in, incredibly blurry pictures of it. 

(It’s amusing to see the girl so excited over a simple pokemon. He’ll tease her about it sometime.)

They continue on, Gloria several metres in front of Bede. It begins to snow further into their trek, starting light but growing heavier until he loses sight of her in the flurry. Snowflakes land on his lashes. He had reached over to wipe them with a frost-encrusted sleeve, and when he opens them again there is no sign of her bobbing ski hat.

“Gloria?” Bede says through gritted teeth. 

The most important part of surviving a storm like this is to stay together. He does a turn to scan his surroundings—huge mistake, he realises, as now he doesn’t know where he’s facing. 

“Gloria.” 

She can handle this, he thinks, the crazy girl always seemed to be a few articles of clothing away from becoming one with the wildlife whenever he was called to drag her out of her “extended camping trips” in the wild area, she was perfectly well-equipped to handle a snowstorm and he shouldn’t worry, _he shouldn’t worry_ — 

“Gloria!” 

“Bede!” He hears her muffled voice in the distance, and soon after the flurry dies out. Bede blinks the frost out of his eyes to look for her. What relief he feels is immediately replaced by fear as he finds Gloria’s frosmoth hovering above them, tempering the blizzard with her own. 

“You’re crazy! Blizzard’s highly unstable, if your giant bug makes one wrong move it’ll collapse in on us!” 

“That’s why we need to get out quick!” He sees a flash of orange as Gloria grabs his arm and starts dragging. “I think I see a cave over there, follow me!” 

They stumble their way to the sheer rock walls. The cave Gloria spotted has a dip in its entrance; when Bede trips, he knocks into her and sends them both tumbling down the incline. Frosmoth is withdrawn moments later, the blizzard resuming behind her.

“Ouch,” Gloria mumbles, cradling her head. 

Bede struggles up, smarting from where his elbow hit hard rock. The cave is incredibly small, tapers off a metre behind him—when he stands, his head bumps into its ceiling. “Shit, Gloria, you didn’t have to throw me bodily into a ditch.” 

“I _didn’t_ , you just weren’t moving fast enough. Also I think snow’s beginning to pile up in the front so that leaves you with plenty of time to get over your fragile pride. Just sayin’.” 

“ _What._ ” He snaps his head towards the entrance to find it closed by a steadily climbing wall of snow. 

“I said, _get over your fragile pride_ —’”

“No. No no no no no.” He did not ask for this. He just wanted to travel with her, keep her company beside warm curry meals and share moments with the person he’s (admittedly) fallen for; he didn’t expect to be stranded in a snowstorm with her, trapped in a cave smaller than most rooms and _oh arceus how is he supposed to deal, he’s going to fucking overheat._ “Do you have reception? We need to get help as fast as possible.” 

“Nah, don’t think so. Let me check...yep. Trust me, I’ve been snowed in a couple of times and I can tell you there’s nothing we can d—wait, isn’t that Hatterene’s ball? Put it back. Bede I know I used Frosmoth to fight off the blizzard but don’t you dare—”

Hatterene materialises with a haunting cry that gets immediately cut off with a sneeze. She shoots Bede a look of betrayal, as if the temperature is his fault. 

“Sorry, I know you don’t like the cold, but I really need your help. Can you use mystical fire on this opening for me?” 

“Bede stop, don’t—” But Hatterene’s already conjuring up balls of fire with otherworldly magic and flinging them. They sink pretty far into the snow-wall, spitting out explosive gouts of steam before fizzling out, leaving holes. 

The wall then collapses. More snow spills into the cave as the snow on top moves quickly to fill the void, while what’s left congeals into ice. 

“—refreeze the snow,” Gloria finishes moments too late, throwing her arms up in a rare display of frustration. “Can you listen to me for _just one second_? Until the storm stops, there’s nothing we can do except wait it out. Keep warm, that kind of stuff.” 

Huffing, Hatterene returns herself. Bede slumps into the floor in despair. 

“Relax,” Gloria leans over to pat his arm with a pity that’s borderline insulting. “Everything is going to be fine.” 

_Famous last words_ , Bede thinks. 

He is so, so fucked. 

* * *

It's fucking cold.

He longs for the chilly, open air of just hours earlier, when at least there was sun to stave off the worse of the cold. Here, it emanates from the walls like a damned freezer. Bede paces back and forth in a vain attempt to keep warm. 

Gloria watches him from the safety of her centiskorch. It was all wrapped around her, a tangle of too many legs and twitching mandibles he’s seen used too often, now docile as a wooloo and seemingly impervious to the temperature. Its antennae flicker with flame, illuminating the cave in a warm light. 

The sight reminds him of their battles, all too familiar. It was a sizzliepede back then; she’d tuck it back into her beret after a hard-won battle, while he’d gather up his singed hatenna and mumble quiet apologies into her fur. 

It’s been a year, and they have both graduated from their losses. He doesn’t know if he’s risen enough to see the bigger picture or stooped low enough to appreciate the details.

“You’re welcome to join,” Gloria says gently. She pats the open space beside her like it’s the simplest thing in the world, to cross the narrow space of the cave and settle against her side. 

(It isn’t. He is her rival, her companion, her friend. But there is a certain kind of sacrifice in this, a loss of composure—she’d already wormed through the fortress walls, chipped away at brick and mortar—and he feared that any further would have him picking up the pieces.)

So he looks away, puffs his cheeks in irritation. Crosses his arms to hide his quivering fingers. He’s changed, but the world has remained the same, and if he left himself open it would grab any handhold and _tear._ “I’m fine.” 

Silence. Gloria shuffles and lets her arm fall. 

He resumes pacing. Charity, Bede thinks, comes at a cost. Rose, wrapping his scintillating businessman’s smile around the words _terms and conditions_ ; Opal, lacing her ironwill onto her future successor; the everyday faces of the social workers and the blind eye they turned when the bigger kids approached him. 

It is only when pain shoots up his arm that he realises his fingers were clenched into fists, skin white with tension.

“Bede.” And Gloria’s looking at him—not the dazed look she gets in the chaos of Wyndon streets but one he’s seen her don in the heat of battle, cutting through her opponents, unraveling their strategies flaw by flaw. She rolls her shoulders, blows stray hairs off her cheek. “I’m trying to help.” 

The cold must have numbed his common sense, because his mouth replies faster than his brain. “I don’t need your help.” 

“Maybe not,” she concedes, “but I’m not offering because I think you need it, I’m offering because I can. Take it. Please.” 

He drops her gaze to look back at the wall of snow. 

_Charity comes at a cost._ But to Gloria, she’d never named a price. When Bede demanded her wishing stones, she’d given them up knowing full well she would’ve won if she refused. Offered her meager earnings and supplies after he got disqualified. She helped because she was in the position to do so, plain and simple. 

She is his friend, and it is here with her that he finally crosses the gap. 

Centiskorch’s body is surprisingly comfortable; he fits himself between the schutes as heat pulses through his back. The air is warm. The roar of the blizzard falls to a hush. He feels Gloria’s side against his, a steady, constant pressure that’s not too distant or too urging but just _there_. 

(Her hair is tinged soft auburn in firelight, contours of shadows melding with a light spray of freckles ghosting the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are closed, her body relaxed. She trusts him, Bede realises—a trust without fine print expectations, without moral duties— and he melts into its simplicity.)

A hand intertwines with his, the heat of her palm flooding his skin. For a brief moment, the world narrows to their fingertips. 

Bede does not pull away. 

* * *

Somehow, lulled by the storm like a lullaby, they both fall asleep.

* * *

When they wake up, it’s a new morning. The storm has stopped enough for Gloria to blast through the melting snow with her frosmoth, Bede’s very miffed sylveon (wrapped up in several scarves) acting as damage control with light screen.

The view of mountains has never been more beautiful as he emerges. Even better is Gloria’s tinkling laughter, ringing out like bell chimes in the clear tundra air. 

“Well, what are we waiting for? There’s a whole day ahead of us.” She stretches out her hand to him. An offer. 

Bede allows himself to smile as he takes it. 

“Lead the way,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Omake:**
> 
> “You shouldn’t keep that centiskorch out, it’ll generate too much carbon monoxide,” Bede said to her, “Unless we dig a hole through the snow I doubt there’ll be much ventilation.”
> 
> Gloria blinked. “Are you calling her stinky?”


End file.
